


An Anniversary

by Naralanis



Series: Paper Planes [2]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naralanis/pseuds/Naralanis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A first anniversary. Kind of a sequel to 'Paper Planes'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anniversary

               

 

                Miranda awoke with a tired groan, careful not to wake the sleeping body next to hers. This was not going to be a good day; she should not have indulged on that last bottle of wine. Her partner had helped her with it, and it had been for a special occasion, but the resulting headache almost made her rethink it. Almost.

                The fact that they had to do it the night before still didn’t sit well with Miranda. She had worried and fretted, but was assured and reassured by her lover that it was necessary— it wasn’t every day that you became a CEO, after all. Still, it didn’t feel as special to commemorate their first anniversary the day before. She felt guilty, as if she was taking advantage of her partner’s understanding nature. Whatever Miranda did to deserve it, she would never know.

                She quietly completed her morning ablutions and gave her sleeping wife a quick, loving kiss on the cheek, mindful not to wake her up. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight: Andrea was exquisitely beautiful, especially in innocent, peaceful slumber. Miranda could watch her sleep for hours. Sadly, she did not have the time today. She supressed an annoyed humph. Today, of all days, she deserved to stay in bed with her wife for as long as she wished. Not _just_ sleeping, of course. That simply wouldn’t be _productive._

Miranda made her way downstairs carrying her Louboutins in one hand, so as not to make too much noise. There was no time for breakfast; some yogurt would have to do. As soon as she reached for the refrigerator door, however, a bright, neon-pink square of paper caught her attention. A post-it note, decorated with Andrea’s neat script.

                _Good Morning! Happy one-year anniversary. I love you._

_-A._

                Miranda could not help her chuckle. The day ahead didn’t seem so daunting after all. Leave it to Andrea to make sure it went as well as it possibly could, even if she couldn’t do it directly. It warmed the frigid Editor immensely, and filled her heart in a way no one would have ever thought possible.

                After making quick work of her yogurt and a steaming cup of coffee (Andrea had pre-set the machine, bless her wonderful, caring, ever-efficient heart), Miranda picked up the Book from her study and made her way down the steps of the townhouse. Roy was already waiting with the car, and after a succinct ‘Good morning’ they were on their way. Something, however, caught Miranda’s eye, stuck on the window opposite her seat: another post-it note, this time in a garish shade of orange. She squinted to read it.

                _I’d check the Book again if I were you._

                Miranda grinned fondly at the little hearts framing the note, but quickly set onto checking the Book as it mandated. She carefully went over all of her annotations, looking for anything amiss. Finally, she found it, taped to the inside of the back cover: A folded paper plane, crafted out of that ridiculously expensive paper the twins insisted was absolutely crucial for their hobby. The paper didn’t matter as much as its colour: Cerulean Blue. There was no stopping the full-blown smile that tugged mercilessly at Miranda’s lips. She just hoped she would get it under control before arriving at _Runway,_ or her staff would begin to think she had finally lost it. Straightening the paper plane, she carefully placed it in her purse in such a way as to not crease it too badly. This day would be OK.

 

                But of course disaster would begin when her idiotic second assistant screwed up her coffee order. Miranda thought wryly that the incompetent girl should really thank her Andrea for her good mood today, or she would have been walking out the door faster than you could say Gabbana. In an attempt to distract herself from the girl’s uselessness, the Editor set about catching up with the list of publications on her desk. She was caught completely off-guard, however, when a copy of _The New York Mirror_ from exactly one year before was found among them. At the front page was the exclusive she and Andrea had drafted for their wedding, complete with their picture in their absolutely stunning Valentino gowns. The warm fluttering in Miranda’s stomach made her momentarily forget why she was dreading this day in the first place. So far it had been simply delightful.

                However, her mood quickly deteriorated from delightful to furiously annoyed extremely quickly. So many boring meetings, so many tedious formalities to go through. They all grated on her nerves like never before. Why couldn’t these things happen quickly and painlessly? Not only did she have to deal with monotonous board members, a disgruntled Irv Ravitz still managed to infuriate her further. At least that loathsome little cockroach would be gone by tomorrow. She still had to go over a myriad of details with Nigel, along with Serena’s transition as the new Art Director. And more meetings. And more formalities. She did not even dare to look at the clock; time seemed to stand still and she did not want confirmation of the fact. She was almost looking forward to her lunch with Donatella. Almost.

                Once Miranda stopped by her office in a flurry of activity, she had to do a double take as she was about to leave again. Something was off. She looked intently at her desk, and immediately noticed what was amiss. A bouquet of roses sat inconspicuously to the side. Upon closer inspection, however, Miranda could not help her smile. Every single rose was expertly made of paper, with delicate, intricate and unbelievably elegant folds and creases creating every petal. She laughed to herself— Andrea had clearly been practicing. What was she so busy with again?

                The day went by following the same pattern; aggravation after aggravation, then suddenly a gift, a thoughtful token of some kind tailored specifically to ease her mercurial temper. Andrea seemed to have timed them impeccably; they always got to her when she was on the verge of killing or firing someone. Her minions would never know how they all pretty much owed Andrea their jobs. Even during her lunch with Donatella, Miranda had been pleasantly surprised when a waiter appeared unannounced carrying an empty bottle with a note inside. Donatella had gushed in a way only an Italian could, drowning Miranda in proclamations of ‘ _che romantico_!’. Miranda had just smiled; the note was written in the _Mirror_ stationery, and was actually a doodle of a rather bored Andy passing the time at work, counting the hours until she got home. They were definitely on the same page, Miranda mused.

                It was very late when the Editor-turned-CEO finally crossed the threshold into the townhouse, exhausted. She had no idea how she would have fared without Andrea’s thoughtfulness throughout the day— Human Resources would more than likely have had their hands full with rehiring entire departments. As she made her way into the foyer, Miranda looked over at the grandfather clock in the hallway— half-past midnight. No doubt Andrea was already asleep. She could not help a groan of annoyance— she had barely seen her wife on their anniversary, and now it was already over.

                Out of habit, Miranda glanced at the table where the Book was usually placed. She was surprised to see a neatly wrapped box on it, along with an envelope. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Miranda surreptitiously took a look, turning it over in her hands. She was once again greeted by Andrea’s neat handwriting, addressing both the box and the envelope to her, along with a note telling her to open the latter first.

                Miranda made quick work of the envelope, tearing the crease carefully and taking out a thick, glossy sheet of paper from within. She could not supress a smile— it was their first ‘family’ photo. That is, the first family photo that included Andrea. Nigel had snapped it; it had been an impromptu affair. Miranda had been working through lunch, so Andrea and the girls decided to surprise her with steak from Smith and Wollensky. They had all eaten together in her office of all places, and Nigel had deemed it ‘adorable’, taking the picture with his phone without her immediate knowledge.

                The box contained a frame for the picture, so Miranda immediately set out to put it all together, setting it up on that very table. It fit right in— the house was full of pictures of the girls, the girls and herself, the girls and Andrea, and, of course, the two of them. Andrea had outright refused to have Patrick or even Annie come around and take professional pictures of the family; she was big on candid shots, and after a bit of insistence from the brunette’s part, Miranda found that she didn’t mind. On the contrary, the candid pictures brought life into the house, and made it all seem more real.

                Leaving the picture with a smile on her face, Miranda slowly made her way up the steps to the second floor, once again mindful not to make a sound so as not to wake her wife. She made two quick stops before reaching her final destination to check in on her darling girls. Caroline had fallen asleep with a book over her face, and Cassidy had wrangled the sheets out of the bed and onto the floor. Miranda rolled her eyes as she righted each girl, thinking back on the craziness that entailed the last couple of years, thankful for the girls’ interference that had allowed her to reconnect with a woman she thought she would never see again. 

                Finally reaching the door to the master bedroom, Miranda pursed her lips in confusion at the closed door. Taped to it was a paper plane.  Carefully unsticking it from the polished wood, she raised an eyebrow at the paper it was made of; it was littered with words. Her eyes widened as she flattened the origami and skimmed over the writing adorning it. It was a letter of resignation from Andrea to _The New York Mirror._ What on Earth?

                Forgetting about the likelihood of a sleeping Andrea, Miranda forcefully wrung the door open. Why was Andrea resigning? She seemed happy with her work so far. She certainly hadn’t given her own wife some warning or indication of the contrary.

                To the newly-minted CEO’s dismay, her wife was nowhere to be seen. The room was lit only by the lamps on the nightstands, which cast a shadow over the bed. Narrowing her eyes, Miranda noted the bed was empty, aside from what looked to be a thick stack of paper. Approaching the king-sized bed, Miranda carefully examined item laid upon it, her eyes widening once she realised what it was. She could not help a smile as she turned each sheet over fondly, pride swelling in her heart.

                “Hi there” called a voice behind her.

                Miranda whirled to find her wife, still awake, emerging from the bathroom, her famous megawatt grin lighting up the room. The silver haired woman broadened her own smile and gestured at the papers she held.

                “Andrea… you finished it.”

                The brunette took the manuscript from Miranda’s hands, drawing her arms around the older woman and nuzzling her neck affectionately.

                “Yes. I did.”

                Miranda returned the embrace, still unable to wipe the grin off her face.

                “Your first novel. I’m so proud of you.” She said truthfully.

                “I’ve got a deal for it already. I’m going to be a published author.” Andrea spoke, as if she could not believe her own words. Miranda let out a chuckle.

                “You’re already an exceptional journalist. Although I do hope you have some freelancing jobs up your sleeve…”

                “Yeah, I do. Don’t worry, lady, I’ve got everything lined up.”

                “This is amazing. I’m so proud.” Miranda repeated truthfully. Andrea had a way with words; that much had been obvious from the very start. The brunette’s imagination was so fertile and wild, however, that she came up with ideas faster than she could write them, so finishing her own projects was a bit of a challenge, especially with her being such a high-demand freelancer besides working at _The Mirror._ The particular volume on the bed had taken over three years to go from an outline on a napkin to a full manuscript.

                “I really hope it works out. There’s so much more I want to do” Andrea murmured, her eternal insecurity peeking out. Miranda grasped the younger woman’s shoulders firmly and gazed into her mocha brown orbs.

                “It will. Just wait and see, you’ll be the next J.K. Rowling” she responded in jest, earning a rather ungraceful snort of laughter from her wife.

                “I don’t know about that. I just hope it’s a good enough gift for our first anniversary.”

                “Darling, it’s perfect. All of your gifts were. Someday I’ll figure out how you manage to time such things so perfectly.”

                Andrea laughed again, her eyes twinkling.

                “Never! A girl has got to keep a few secrets! But I’m glad you liked them.”

                “Speaking of gifts…” Miranda whispered, letting go of her wife and making her way to her bedside table. Andrea eyed her curiously as the older woman rummaged through the small drawer and took out an embossed envelope. Her blue eyes sparkled with expectation as she handed it to the brunette.

                “Your freelancing schedule might come in handy for this…” she said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

                Andrea quirked an eyebrow up in question before busying herself with tearing the envelope open. Two strips of paper were inside, and she squinted to read the words on them. She gasped audibly once she realised what they were.

                “Miranda!” she nearly yelled, throwing herself into the woman’s waiting arms. “Paris? Really? We’re going to Paris?”

                Miranda kissed her forehead affectionately, smiling at her wife’s enthusiasm.

                “Yes, darling. I think it’s time we made some new memories at _La Ville Lumière.”_

“This is perfect. This is the best anniversary ever; how are we ever going to top this one?”

                The silver-haired woman rolled her eyes at her wife, beaming one of her rare, full-blown smiles at the brunette.

                “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, darling. By then you’ll probably be a rich author, I’m sure you’ll come up with something” she joked.

                Andy grinned fully.

                “Careful, Priestly, or I might just charter off a plane and drag you spelunking in New Zealand.”

                Miranda rolled her eyes once more, supressing a groan.

                “Absolutely not, _Priestly.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
